


Never Last

by spinaptum



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Feels, Bucky needs therapy, F/M, Groveling, Sassy!Bucky, Sexual Frustration, SkyTub, WinterShock - Freeform, author has a dark sense of humor, author is working through some shit, linearity is for chumps, timing is everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 02:40:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8472361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinaptum/pseuds/spinaptum
Summary: Sometimes it's hard to let go, even things that aren't meant to last.Post-Darcy/Bucky, Darcy broods and Bucky flirts. Unbeta'd, first work EVAR. Set to Homewrecker by Marina and the Diamonds.ETA: the muse bit me, so we're going back in time to see how it started, how it all went wrong, and maybe how to fix it...





	1. Sometimes you don't know what you're doing until you've done it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheCyborgThatCould](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCyborgThatCould/gifts).



The best part of life in the Tower was that it was full of excellent hiding spots, many of which had killer views of Manhattan. The worst part of living in the Tower was that each Avenger had unspoken exclusive rights to the more defensible hiding spots and encyclopedic knowledge of (almost) all of them. It made finding a place for a satisfying, melancholic brood difficult.

But not impossible. Avoiding all the highest perches (Clint) and vents (Clint/Tasha) and the gym (all of them) and garden/greenhouse (Bruce) still left a good dozen spaces, mostly sealed up unused closets and stairs that led to suites Tony had started and then abandoned.

On the 87th floor behind a wall panel was a narrow spiral staircase leading to a small, unfinished whirlpool tub set into a glass floor directly under the cantilevered helipad. It was disconcerting to sit in an empty bathtub that seemed to hover over emptiness, which probably explained why the space was unfinished. But the precariousness of the perch and looming presence of the communal Avengers space above suited Darcy’s mood.

Darcy sighed, stretched, and winced. It had been a long day-night-day in the lab. Jane had been on a roll, covering every white board with long, complicated theorems before running out of space and resorting to scribbling on the walls themselves. Darcy had barely been able to keep up with transcription and her eyes hurt from squinting at Jane’s crabbed shorthand.

No, that wasn’t true. Darcy might have firmly compartmentalized her emotions in the communal spaces but what was the point of a good brood if you couldn’t be honest with yourself? Her eyes didn’t hurt from Science(!), they hurt from watching Thor retrieve his Beloved Jane and seeing Jane just… _melt_ into him. They were so in love it hurt to look at them and remember that at one point Darcy thought she had something just as real.

Sometimes holding it all together meant letting a little bit out, under controlled circumstances. Nat had taught her that, the first week after Bucky broke Darcy’s heart. “You can’t keep repeating this pattern, _milaya_ ” Nat whispered into her hair while Darcy sat curled into the fetal position on her bed. The Black Widow had suggested finding some outlets, spaces and places and mantras and hobbies that would give distraction or emotional release, as necessary.

Darcy had handled break-ups before, but this was different. Usually it was enough to just know that a break-up was coming, proactively end things, and then avoid the ex like a Hydra agent with the plague. But this time…this wasn’t supposed to be a casual thing. She wasn’t stupid enough to mess around with someone who was a co-worker, a housemate, a friend, and a superspyssassin. She’d really thought this was _It_ , the last, best relationship she’d ever be in. When Bucky had come back from a mission and brushed past her like she wasn’t there, she’d assumed he just needed to re-set from Soldier mode. It wasn’t until he had Jarvis revoke her access to his floor that she realized she’d been dumped.

But this was It, right? So she gave him time, and told herself he’d been through a lot, and she would be just as patient and understanding as Pepper was with Tony. And when Bucky crawled into bed with her one night she let him back in. But he wasn’t there when she woke up the next morning. He wouldn’t leave the Tower with her on coffee runs anymore. When she sat next to him on the couch in the common area he got up and left. Darcy cooked his favorite meals; they sat cold until Clint ate them.

Bucky still appeared in her bed most nights he wasn’t in the field. Darcy started running every morning and training with Nat more often, thinking she had maybe gotten a little “cozier” than curvy, even by 1940s standards. She started doing her hair and makeup every day. She might not be as polished as Pepper or put the “fatal” in _femme fatale_ like Nat, but Darcy was working on it-working on _her_ -to try and make him happy.

With the wisdom of hindsight, Darcy could only look back on those months and wince in sympathy with Past!Darcy. She’d been so certain that they were in love, that she was in love, that she’d stopped noticing that she wasn’t even happy. But her friends had noticed and when the team was out saving Indianapolis from Nascar-related peril Jane and Pepper had swooped into Darcy’s apartment with a selection of Tony’s better vintages. In the midst of telling Pepper about the disappearing act she’d tried to pull on Ian-the-intern when she’d decided that relationship had run its course the epiphany hit Darcy, which had no doubt been Jane’s intention in prodding her to tell the damn story in the first place. Wine-drunk!Darcy apparently had more sense than sober!Darcy.

When Bucky returned from the field and went to Darcy’s room Jarvis didn’t sound particularly regretful when he informed Bucky that he no longer had permission to access Darcy’s suite. Jarvis sounded even less regretful when he informed Bucky that attempting unauthorized access activated the Taser-based security system built into Darcy's door. After Bucky had attempted to pick the lock.

Darcy smiled at that memory. Jarvis had replayed it for her many, many times in the six months since she’d realized she was being used for sex - only the “benefits” part of “friends with benefits.”

With another stretch and ladylike crack of her spinal column, Darcy hauled herself out of the cocoon of blankets and pillows she’d built in the unused tub. Her SkyTub was a safe space for generalized melancholia and watching particularly large or well-situated Manhattan explosions, but according to Darcy's very strict rules of emotional self-care-but-not-dumped-girl-moping, when a generalized brood threatened to become a more specific sort of depressing re-hash of the past it was time to get up and get moving.

The gym – the normal (well, superfancy Starkified version of normal) gym should have been empty. It was only just past sunset, so most people who needed a run would have opted to go outside, and the training rooms and 1940s flashback boxing ring for the Fossils were on different floors, and the Avengers were the upstate facility for the weekend. Totally safe time for any woman trying to avoid people to work off some emotion.

Nat had once told Darcy “’Should’ is for children and optimists” and damned if she wasn’t right. The gym _should_ have been empty. It wasn’t. Halfway through her second lap around the running track he was just…there.

“Doll-”

Running directly into a dude who has a higher metal content than body fat should (ha!) have felt like running into a wall. Not like a fucking hug. But one second she was running at full jog and the next she was in his arms, held tight and soft and steady.

“Please, Doll…Darce…I just need…” He stopped talking, stopped what for Bucky was practically babbling. Taking a shuddering breath, he stroked his thumbs down the outside of Darcy’s arms. She could feel the strength in his grip, in his arms; the only difference between them the coolness of his left and the heat of his right. Darcy didn’t waste her own strength trying to break his grip. She fought for her balance, focusing on her own breathing, closing her eyes, trying to block out the scent/feel/heat of him (SHUTUPSHUTUPBRAIN).

“I thought the team was upstate for the weekend.” Nice. Safe neutral comment. Bucky heaved a sigh in response.

“We were upstate for the weekend, Doll. It’s Tuesday.” He chuckled, a sound Darcy felt more than heard, pressed against his chest. “You been spending too much time with Jane in the labs? Need a bit of a break?” Bucky’s tone was light, teasing as he shifted her more firmly against him, switching from stroking her arms to running his hands up and down her spine. Darcy could feel his need for her, could hear it in the hoarse edge to his voice. “There are better ways to lose track of time, you know.”

It would have been so easy to stay like that. So easy to tilt her head from where it pressed against his shoulder and press a kiss, a lick, a _bite_ into the curve of his neck. To mark him as hers, at least temporarily. But Darcy had done that before. The hickey lasted longer than the high, but both were always gone by morning. No more instant gratification, Darcygirl. Stay strong.

Darcy relaxed against Bucky until she felt him shift his balance, preparing to pick her up and carry her off to be ravished (NOBRAINSTOPITBADIMAGENOTNOW) then she shoved hard against his chest. Bucky stumbled back, far enough for Darcy to move outside his reach and head for the door.

“If I’m going to fuck someone who doesn’t give a damn about me, the feeling is going to be mutual.”

Darcy didn't always know what she was going to say until she said it. And she was learning that she had a tendency to overstay her welcome, just to see how things ended. But this time was different. And if the surveillance system in the Tower captured Bucky's expression as he watched her leave, no one but Jarvis knew if Darcy ever watched the footage. Or paused it. Or fucking cross-stitched it on a pillow.


	2. It's hard to be a person

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky finds it hard to adjust to life with choices. 
> 
> Happens pre-Chapter 1
> 
> Set to Keep Singing by Rick Astley (no, really!)  
> “You’ll be saved some sunny day  
> From throwin’ your life away”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my Thor, I can't believe anyone read Chapter 1! But Bucky's behavior needs an explanation, and this is the beginning of that. Subsequent chapters will probably bounce around in time because linear narrative is for well-organized brains ;)
> 
> This is just my headcanon of what Bucky thinks, please don't take this as how PTSD works.
> 
> Also, should I add trigger warnings?

Bucky did not hate living in the Tower. He couldn’t have even imagined a place as nice as the Tower when he was a snot-nosed punk living in Brooklyn, and several decades as a Hydra slave [ _No Buck, just admit it – tool/weapon/trash_ ] was enough to recalibrate a body’s standards of “nice.”

He did not hate living in the Tower. He did not hate opening the fridge and finding food [mostly food…some of it was not recognizable as such, so he generally waited to see if anyone else ate the pink spiky things or funky smelly liquids before tasting them himself]. He did not hate the endless supply of hot water and showers big enough to lie down in. Those big endless showers came in real handy after a bad mission or a bad night in his own head when he just needed to wash off the blood that wasn’t there and fend off the chill of the ice he wasn’t in. Bucky didn’t hate the view of the city [ _barely remembered and certainly had never seen from this angle]_.

Compared to everything that had come before it, remembered or not, Bucky couldn’t hate living in the Tower. The Tower was great. _Living_ was the hard part.

At first, Bucky had avoided people in general, assuming that anyone could be a Hydra agent, ready to whisper a trigger phrase and wipe him clean [ _Not clean. Always dirty. Can’t be clean ever again_ ]. But constant vigilance isn’t possible, even for a supersoldier. So Bucky slowly began to socialize, one new person at a time. He reasoned that since Hydra had a standing kill-or-capture order on him, any Hydra agent would take advantage of a chance interaction to try and bring him down immediately, so anyone who didn’t utter a trigger phrase within the first seven social interactions probably wasn’t Hydra. He’d been rather impressed with his own sound tactics, but after he explained them to Steve and Sam, who had congratulated him on “making progress” he found a weekly hour-long visit with a Sam-approved therapist had been added to his schedule on Tuesdays.

After Steve and Sam pointed out that Bucky’s constant vigilance kept him from sleeping, and his lack of sleep was probably contributing to his paranoia [~ _ACCEPTED_ : _sleep in moderate amounts is required for maximum functionality_ ~] Bucky sought alternative strategies to avoid being triggered. Plan B - Earplugs to block out the sound of voices - was dismissed immediately. Bucky wasn’t stupid enough to sacrifice one of his enhanced senses just for his own emotional wellbeing. Instead, Bucky sought Dr. Banner’s advice on using meditation to install his own subconscious triggers. Theoretically, he could install a “deadman’s switch” in his own brain, causing him to blow his brains out if the Soldier programming ever took over. Bruce had gone a little green when Bucky initiated the conversation, though, and backed out of the room. A second therapist, recommended by Bucky’s Tuesday therapist, was added to his schedule for Wednesdays.

Stark Junior was much more enthusiastic about the idea of a physical suicide switch when Bucky approached him. Several weeks in the lab was beginning to bear fruit when Helen Cho became suspicious of Tony’s request for brain scans, and contacted Pepper.

“Tony, No.”

“But Pepper, he asked me for it! And you told me to work through my feelings constructively! I’m constructing something!” A grief counselor was brought by Tony’s lab. A third therapy session was added to Bucky’s schedule on Mondays.

Without a foolproof mechanism for preventing or subverting his Hydra triggers Bucky went for a more primitive solution. He started practicing jerking his fist up to his ear as quickly as possible, and carrying sharpened chopsticks wherever he went. If the Soldier wasn’t activated instantly, maybe he could jam a sharpened stick into his brain while he was still in control.

Given how much takeout was consumed by the Avengers, no one noticed Bucky’s growing cache of chopsticks but they did notice when Bucky cut his hair. Natasha [ _Natalya/the Red Woman/he shouldn’t be allowed to watch Game of Thrones_ ] had raised an eyebrow when he entered the sparring ring and Bucky heard himself explain that he was worried hair covering his ears would interfere with his chopstick plan. Nat’s face had gone blank, she’d kicked his ass in five straight bouts, and when Bucky got back to his room from soaking his bruises there was another therapy session added to his schedule on Thursdays.

The clear cause-and-effect relationship between explaining his logical habits to his teammates and acquiring four therapists [ _and the four therapists themselves_ ] convinced Bucky that he was not adapting well to life as a person. He remembered it being easy, before [ _war/Hydra/ice/pain/nothing/not/object/target_ ]. He remembered being…smooth. Confident. He remembered looking around rooms for dames rather than exits, and listening for music instead of footsteps coming up behind him.

When he thought hard about it [ _too hard, but four hours of therapy makes for a lot of time to fill with thinking_ ] Bucky recognized that part of his old life being easy was not having a lot of choices. He took jobs as they came, took women as they came, scraping by on charm and smiles. The only choice he’d ever really made was to look after Steve. And then the war came, and the draft, and Bucky hadn’t needed to make any choices at all. He’d been trained, clothed, given a rifle, and a mission, no questions asked.

_[That was why Hydra took you/Already a weapon/just needed more training/didn’t make choices/didn’t want choices/you think the army didn’t give you choices? Wait’ll you get a load of this!]_

Recognize the problem. Identify a solution. Enact the solution. Bucky recognized that he wasn’t good at living like a person. He wasn’t good at making complicated choices, so he’d narrowed his focus to a single choice – don’t be the Winter Soldier. That was a simple choice with a simple plan – don’t be the Soldier -> don’t let Hydra trigger the Soldier -> don’t let Hydra agents near you -> don’t let anyone near you. Unfortunately, as Bucky’s therapists told him every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday [and as Sam and Steve and Nat told him every chance they fucking got] this current strategy was “unhealthy” as well as “unsustainable,” “creepy,” “sad,” and “boring.”

But altering his plan [ _“be a real person, dude!” “engage with society, Buck!” “eventually get a date, maybe Kristen from Logistics?”_ ] was exhaustingly complicated for a man running surveillance on every person who entered the Tower, including his therapists, while trying not to sleep. There were too many choices to make, about what to wear, where to go, who to be. He made Steve happy when he used old slang, joined him in the retro set-up boxing gym, reminisced about bad food and good neighbors. But choosing to be that version of himself felt like pulling on a suit he’d outgrown; it pinched as he walked. Bucky thought about choosing to be the Winter Soldier instead, but that wasn’t a real choice. Bucky might be bad at living but he was fucking World Champ at surviving, and if he chose to live as the Soldier he might as well eat a bullet and save Nat the trouble of putting him down. As if choosing to live like a person wasn’t hard enough, the only two options he had any fucking clue about he didn’t want.

If a solution cannot be identified, seek guidance from a subject matter expert. Bucky considered attending his therapists’ Friday group session, but he wasn’t invited to those. He had only found out about them when he became paranoid about sharing his thoughts and schedule with four people he hadn’t done the background checks on, discovered they all had a joint meeting every week at 5pm, and tracked his Thursday therapist to the bar where they all met. Apparently it was a regular thing, although as highly-qualified therapists with security clearances they did make an effort to switch up which bar they went to.

Exiting the Tower without prior surveillance did not meet Bucky’s threshold for safety. Fortunately, there was another option [ _maybe he was getting better at decisions?_ ] There were people currently in the Tower who were much, much better than Bucky at making choices. People who woke up every day and made little decisions; who made huge life-altering decisions based on [ _totally insufficient!_ ] data; who routinely changed their minds after making a decision and doing/wearing/saying/eating/being something new. The person who met these criteria who Bucky was most certain was not Hydra [ _and would be easiest to subdue if she was Hydra_ ] was Darcy Lewis.


	3. Actions speak louder than words but are more likely to be misinterpreted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Natasha call out Bucky for being creepy. Bucky realizes being a person might involve interacting with other people.

If you told Darcy she was good at making decisions she’d agree with you. Mostly because she firmly believed it was impolite to disagree with someone when they gave you a compliment. Also, a girl needed all the boosts of self-confidence she could get living in a Tower full of incredibly cut, hot, brilliant, rich, and competent superheroes and the superhero-adjacent. Living in the Tower might have given Darcy an inferiority complex, except that a) if she’d made it through middle school without one she wasn’t going to develop one as an adult, thank-you-very-much, and b) living in close proximity to people quickly revealed the warts beneath the spandex and Kevlar. Not literal warts, thank Thor. But being super old did not excuse Steve from not doing the goddamn dishes, and Darcy had developed a theory that anyone who was a genius in their specific field had traded their brain space devoted to laundry and hygiene for the ability to understand math written in Greek. [She was calling it the Lewis Rule and had tried to submit a paper on the subject to a variety of journals, but Jarvis refused to upload it, citing privacy and Tower Resident Rule #34 “No scientific experimentation on fellow residents without express permission.” Darcy eventually gave up because this meant Political Science counted as science, suck it Stark!]

*

Even if Darcy would have agreed with him, Bucky didn’t tell her she was good at making decisions, which in his mind was distinct from making good decisions. Based on his research into New Mexico and London, Bucky was pretty sure Darcy did not make good decisions, at least when it came to her own survival.

Bucky did not think it was necessary to talk to Darcy in order to learn how to make decisions. He didn’t think any contact would be necessary. Also, he’d overheard Stark Junior and Foster arguing about how even observing phenomena exerted influence on what was being observed, so he decided Mission: Decisionmaker required extreme discretion and all surveillance would be from protected vantage points in the vents or from rooftops.

Bucky’s discrete surveillance efforts lasted for precisely three days, until he ran into Clint in the vents overlooking the communal kitchen [ _Darcy had started making peanut butter cookies, decided to add oatmeal, turned the dough into a piecrust, and ended up with a chocolate pie._ ] Unwilling to be coerced into serving as a distraction while Clint stole said pie, Bucky had beaten a hasty retreat to his own rooms. Natasha and Steve were waiting for him.

“Why are you stalking Darcy?” Avengers fans probably didn’t peg Natasha as the blunt one. “Is this your way of telling me you aren’t interested in Nisha from Statistics?” Bucky gave her a dark look as he swung himself down out of the vents.

“No.” [ _Would they leave if he asked them to?_ ]

Steve sighed and leaned against the kitchen counter [ _Probably not planning on leaving._ ] “Bucky, you can’t just follow people around from the vents waiting to see if they’re Hydra plants.”

“I don’t think Darcy is a Hydra plant.” [ _She’d been on the list of helicarrier targets. He’d downloaded it and spent several days identifying people who were particularly vulnerable to Hydra attack, creating personalized defense plans for them, and mailing them the plans. Steve had made him stop after several plans were returned with restraining orders attached. Some people just didn’t want to be helped._ ]

Steve sighed again, rubbing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. [ _Bucky-who-was-James recognized the gesture; he was pretty sure Steve learned it from him. Bucky-who-was-Bucky was oddly proud that he’d managed to make Steve as exasperated as Little!Steve had made him. Bucky-who-was-the-Soldier wanted to punch Steve in the face, not because of the gesture, that was just how he always felt._ ]

“Bucky, will you _please_ explain why you are following Miss Lewis around in the ventilation system?” [ _Maybe they would leave if he told them the truth?]_

Bucky smirked. “All you had to do was ask nicely, punk.” So he explained about his difficulty making decisions, which caused Steve’s face to develop a Concerned Expression. Then Bucky outlined his plan to improve his decision-making skills by watching Darcy make decisions, which caused Natasha to snort. He also mentioned his desire not to interfere in Darcy’s decision-making processes by making contact with the subject, which was when Steve dropped his head into his hands and groaned audibly. Natasha snickered.

Suddenly nervous, Bucky tried to backpedal. “Look, I’m just being practical, okay? Also, I have a very full schedule right now and you can’t give me another therapist on Fridays because I think that’s the day they get together and talk about me – that’s not paranoia talking, I actually followed them and they meet every week at a different bar-“ The expression on Steve’s face had moved from Concerned to Pained to Horrified. Natasha was actively giggling. “-and now that I say that out loud I can see how my actions might be misinterpreted…” Bucky trailed off, not sure how to explain things or if he was only going to dig himself a deeper hole.

Natasha’s expression was more bemused than alarmed. “Only you, James, could avoid spending any time in the labs in this tower full of scientists and yet somehow manage to absorb their twin bad habits of turning everything into a science experiment and ignoring all the rules.”

“Rules?” Bucky couldn’t think of any rules he’d violated. When he’d refused to help steal pie Clint has muttered something about the Bro Code, but that didn’t seem relevant. Or like a real thing.

“Are you familiar with Rule 34, James?” Nat raised an eyebrow. Bucky frowned.

“If it exists, there’s porn of it?”

Natasha blinked once, which meant he’d managed to surprise her. Steve was jotting something down in his notebook, probably adding “Rule 34” to his list of things to look up.

“No James, not the rules of the internet, the Rules for Tower Residents. An updated version was sent out, hmmm, last week? Probably as a memo sent via email?” Natasha’s expressions weren’t easily readable unless she wanted them to be. Her face at this moment suggested to Bucky that if he knew about internet porn she wasn’t going to believe him if he said he didn’t check his email. [ _May as well just tell them.]_

“I don’t open email attachments. Hydra may have implemented visual as well as aural triggers and those could be sent as emails.” This didn’t seem to satisfy Natasha.

Steve frowned at him. “All Tower residents have to follow the Tower Rules, Buck. No lurking in the vents, no experimenting on fellow residents-” Bucky could hear Captain America in Steve’s voice [ _such a hypocrite! Never followed a single damn rule he didn’t agree with!_ ]

“-Clint practically lives in the vents,” Bucky muttered.

“Clint has…mental issues,” rebutted Steve. Bucky gave him a look.

“And I don’t? Me and my _four therapists_ would say different.” Steve opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Regardless of the mental health of any other residents or the _utter hypocrisy_ of Steven Grant Rogers lecturing _anyone_ about following rules,” Natasha shot Steve a look, “we are getting a little away from the issue at hand, are we not?” She refocused her attention on Bucky. “James, what is it that you want? What is your final goal?”

Bucky blinked, just once. [ _Guess Natasha had picked up her tell from him_ ]. They hadn’t actually asked him that before. Steve wanted Bucky to be the best friend he remembered from the 40s. The remains of SHIELD wanted Bucky to help them root out the remains of Hydra. The Avengers wanted Bucky to help them save the world. Bucky wanted…he wanted…Everything came out in a rush.

“I want to be a person. I want to be a _good_ person. Good enough that I can choose to be normal, to look normal and act normal and not spend so much time thinking about what that means that I give away the fact that I’m not normal. I wanna be able to be around people and relax ‘bout it. I wanna stop seein’ everyone as a potential threat-“ [ _Everyone is a threat!_ ] “I wanna stop bein’ scared of people and havin’ ‘em be scared of me.” Bucky paused, fighting for breath.

Nat just smiled. “You want to be safe, then, James?” A bark of laughter escaped Bucky.

“Might as well wish for a time machine, or my left arm back.” He flashed her a grin. “I don’t wish for things I can’t have anymore, Natalia. But you…you’re proof I might be able to get my head on straight. You came in from the cold before me, and you helped Clint get over mind control. Hell, you even dragged this one-“ He jerked a thumb at Steve, “-into the modern era. I’m never going to be who I was before, but I gotta think I can be better than I am now.” She nodded, accepting the compliment for what it was.

“Yes, you can be better than you are now. If by “better” you mean more in control of how you interact with others…yes, I can see how Darcy fits into this. She is very much in control of her own life, and also the most at ease when confronted with how little control any of us truly have…” Natasha paused, making a mental note to herself. “But you can’t observe your way into improving your social skills, James. You will never find your balance among people if you are never _among_ people.”

Bucky blinked. He’d been thinking of human interaction as the mission objective, and watching Darcy as intelligence gathering. But if he thought of social skills the same as other skills, what Natasha said made sense. Improvement required practice. Muscle memory developed over time.

“So, instead of watching Darcy I should-“ Steve broke into Bucky’s train of thought.

“For fucks’ sake, Bucky, just talk to her! You used to be good at talking to dames. None of this skulking in corners bullshit!” Steve broke off his verbal attack when Natasha shot him a glare. Bucky felt a surge of [ _anger/rage/guilt/pride/shame_ ] at Steve’s words.

“According to my therapists [ _that you picked for me]_ dwelling on what I used to be like _in the 1940s_ would be counterproductive to a successful adjustment to my new life in this millennium, punk.” Steve winced at the sharp edge in Bucky’s voice. [ _I don’t owe you shit Rogers. Bucky-who-was-Bucky and Bucky-who-was-the-Winter-Soldier both now wanted to punch Steve in the face._ ] “Three out of four of said therapists suggested that I work to identify my problems, set goals to overcome them, and work toward those goals _at my own pace and level of comfort_. Not your goals, not your comfort level.” Bucky stood and gestured towards the door. “Natasha, thank you for your perspective and your advice. Steve-“

Bucky just looked at his best friend. The man had pulled him out of decades of mind control, and gone to bat for him against the US government, the United Nations, and Tony Fucking Stark. So rather than saying it out loud, Bucky left the unspoken “ _go fuck yourself_ ” hovering in the air as Steve followed Natasha out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to do the meet-cute between Darcy and Bucky this chapter buuuuut Steve and Natasha insisted on getting involved. But I think I've done nothing for three days but write this one-shot (ha!) so I might be able to post Darcy-meets-Bucky tomorrow?
> 
> Also, this is not Ultron (nor Civil War) compliant in my brain because I love Jarvis too much.


	4. Down on your knees, making me scream (in frustration)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After nearly getting Steve killed, Bucky tries to explain himself to Darcy. His timing is impeccable, as always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said something about this being the "meet cute" chapter but have some reunion angst instead?
> 
> This chapter takes place about a week after Chapter 1, which takes place about eight months after Chapters 2 and 3.

If it wasn’t for his slumped posture, the team would have thought Bucky had regressed into the Winter Soldier. After Captain America went down under a swarm of robotic tentacled beetle-things armed with fucking _seven foot spears_ , Barnes had gone berserk, tearing the things apart with his bare hands. After they’d found Steve, still impaled on a spear, and gotten him onto the Quinjet for immediate evac back to the Tower’s medical unit Barnes had gone almost catatonic. Now he sat curled almost into the fetal position next to Steve’s stretcher.

As the jet landed and the waiting trauma team whisked Steve away Barnes stood up, lurched unsteadily to the liquor cabinet in the communal kitchen, grabbed the closest full bottle of whisky and disappeared into a stairwell. Clint made a move to follow, but Natasha held him back.

“What he needs right now isn’t us.”

*

The arrival of a Quinjet to the Tower’s landing pad directly above her perch in the SkyTub jolted Darcy right out of her meditative trance. Although “meditative trance” was probably not the most accurate term. “Humming her favorite songs while trying to achieve inner peace and not actively think about James “I’m too sexy for my feelings” Barnes” was probably a wee bit closer to the truth.

Darcy groaned in frustration. She had picked a bad spot for meditation; sitting in the SkyTub meant she’d kept getting sidetracked by more, uh, _earthly_ thoughts. It was just… she’d had plans for the SkyTub. Really good, detailed, _elaborate_ plans. Her spankbank had an account just for the SkyTub and the things James Buchanan Barnes was going to do to her in it. And then he’d basically kicked her out of his life without explanation before she could introduce him to the SkyTub.

[All for the best, Darcygirl. You’ve got the tub to yourself, and an excellent imaginary version of Bucky who’s attentive and eager to please and everything else that the real man isn’t.]

Chewing on her lower lip, Darcy reflected that it was probably unhealthy that so much of her private fantasy material gave a starring role to the man who’d broken her heart. But it was really, _really_ good fantasy material.

*

Footsteps on the staircase behind her drew Darcy out of the tub. [What the hell? Am I having an extremely unexpected break from reality?]

Bucky was standing at the entrance to her private little world, still in his tactical gear, covered in blood and dirt, clutching a mostly-empty bottle of whisky. He took two steps into the room and fell to his knees at her feet.

“Darcy, I…I want to talk-“ Pissed off beyond belief, Darcy cut him off.

“Maybe I don’t give a fuck what you want, Barnes.” 

Bucky stared up at her, pleading. “Darcy, _please_. I know I don’t deserve it, but _please_. I–“ He stopped, ran a hand through his hair and looked down at his knees. “Steve’s in surgery right now. He’s got a fucking spear touching his spine that was meant for me. A spear I saw coming and didn’t even try to avoid because I knew I deserved it.” _[That was how it was always going to end/good things don't last/you break everything you touch/why didn't you just die?]_ Darcy rocked back on her heels in shock.

She took a deep breath. “Okay. Say what you need to say, but you’d better pass me that bottle first.” Bucky held out the almost empty bottle. Darcy took it, careful to avoid touching him, and took a swig. “Alright, Barnes, lay it on me.” She gestured for him to continue as she took another long swallow, draining the bottle. _[“Lay it on me”/Darcy lying on his bed/Darcy lying on top of him/that's all over now/you ruin everything/Darcy with a spear through her spine looking just like Steve]_ Bucky took another deep breath, trying to force himself to relax but the smell of death on his armor just reminded him of why he never could.

“I want to talk.”

“You said that already. Say something new.” [Stay strong, Darcygirl]

“No, that’s not what I meant…I mean, I know I don’t talk to you.” She snorted. “But I want to. I just…I just…” Bucky stopped, frustrated. “Fuck. Fuck this. Fuck me.”

“Is that a request? Because I’ll say it again, we’ve been over this. Why are you here, Bucky?” As Darcy turned to leave Bucky made a noise, a whimpering groan like a wounded animal.

“Because I WANT to talk to you. Because I want to tell you everything that’s happened and everything that’s in my head and I just chugged half a bottle of whisky because _I don’t know how to talk to you._ ” Bucky sobbed out a breath.

“I got real good at not talking as a sniper. I spent seventy fucking years having my brain wiped if I talked too much as the Soldier. _Bad things happen to me when I talk_. _[Miss the killshot/wipe him again/can we fit in another therapy session on Tuesdays?]_ Not talking is easier. It’s simpler. I’m in control if I don’t talk.” Bucky clenched his jaw tightly, almost biting out his words. “I think if I start talking to you I won’t be able to stop. I’ll spill my goddamn guts until you hate me as much as I hate myself. So I. Just. Don’t. Talk. ”

He had fallen to his hands and knees in front of her now, shuddering with the effort of speaking. Darcy stood rooted in place, one hand hovering over his head, not quite touching him.

Bucky rocked back onto his heels. He looked up at Darcy, staring at her so intensely that she thought she could feel him memorize her face.

“I’ve gotta be there when he wakes up, Darcy. I owe him that. I owe him my life at least three times over and I hate owing him so much. And I hate that I hate owing him because what kind of fucking worthless asshole resents Captain America?” Bucky let out a hollow laugh at his own bad joke before taking another shuddering breath. _[Hold on/get it out/you can do this/you must do this]_

“But I needed to see you before I saw him because Steve’s gonna ask me about it and it don’t seem right to tell Steve before I tell you. You got a right to know stuff that’s about you.” Bucky paused, swallowed, and steeled himself to continue.

“I love you. I love every single fucking thing about you. I love your laugh and I love those goddamn lips and I love the way you never follow a recipe and I love that I never know what you’re about to say until you say it and I love that you run into situations that you know might kill you because you want to help.

You fucking _terrify_ me. I never know where you’re going and you befriend random strangers and I can’t protect you from Foster’s machines or random muggers or fucking Hydra agents.

Just being near you makes me happier than I have ever been. And just being near me makes you a target for everyone who has ever wanted to control or kill the Winter Soldier.

I made you a _target_. I fucked up your life because I’m a selfish bastard and I tried to take Nat’s advice to find my balance in the world and instead I fell in love with you and dragged you back down into the shit I came from.

God, I’m so sorry, Doll. I should’ve left you alone. I shouldn’t have even looked at you. You deserve someone who can keep you safe, someone who makes you laugh, someone who makes you happy.

I’m so sorry, Darcy. So, so sorr-“ Bucky rose from his crouch and turned to go. Darcy surprised them both by grabbing his left hand and spinning him back around to face her.

“What the everloving fuck do you think you’re doing, Barnes?” Darcy hissed at him. “You come in here, drop that many bombshells, and turn around to run off and sit in vigil at Captain America’s bedside? _Are you fucking HIGH?!_ ”

Darcy let go of Bucky’s arm, clenched her fists in front of her face and screamed in frustration. “Why do you do these things that make it so easy to hate you and then show up in my private SkyTub all sexy and angsty and say things that make it so hard to hate you! Gah!”

Darcy screamed again and started pacing. Bucky turned to leave, but Darcy whirled around and pinned him to the spot with a glare.

“No! You stay right there! I’m super proud of you for using your words even if an entire bottle of whisky was necessary as a social lubricant but now it is _my_ turn and you are going to follow my plan for once, _capiche_?” He nodded. “Okay, first you are going to go make sure Steve is okay. Once you’ve done that, you are going to shower and go to bed. You will meet me back here in twenty-four hours and we are going to have a _very long conversation_. Do you understand me?” Darcy’s angry pacing had carried her directly to Bucky, and she finished her tirade directly under his nose.

Bucky blinked, once, and slowly nodded. Darcy glared up at him. Then she grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him, hard. When Bucky’s arms wrapped around her, she put both her hands on his chest and shoved him back towards the door.

“Now get out of here before I change my mind!” A quick grin flashed across Bucky’s face before he saluted, turned on his heels, and headed for the medical unit. For a man wearing thirty pounds of body armor with a fifth of whisky in his stomach, he felt oddly…light.

*

[Thor-damn that man for leaving her with an empty whisky bottle!]

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, this was gonna be a one-shot and then Bucky woke me up in the middle of the night demanding an explanation.
> 
> Soooo, now there will be, like, 4-5 chapters, I think? I'm going to try and note which chapters happen out of order.


End file.
